White Snow
by Luna-is-Loony
Summary: Jeff was struggling at school. He felt alone and invisible, and he was on the verge of suicide. However, things seem like they might change when a ghost by the name of Nick shows up, trying to stop and help him.
1. Chapter 1

Jeff hit the wall and shut his eyes as he slid down it, hissing as the uneven edge of the bricks scraped through his shirt cut into him. "C'mon, Ray, ya know we're not supposed t' hit gals." Jeff had heard all the insults before. His eyes opened, and he covered his face just as he saw a foot swing at him. His head slammed back against the wall, and he groaned as there was a sharper crack. He kept his hands there, thinking there'd be another aim towards his head. Instead, it dipped lower, and he doubled over as Ray's tennis shoe connected with his stomach. He gasped for breath, his eyes watering.

"Don't insult girls, Jimmy." He bent down, his hands resting on his knees. "Ain't that right, fag-face?" Jeff didn't bother lifting his head up. "Hey, you'll look at me when I'm talkin' to you!" He was hit one more time, on the side, and he let himself fall over onto the pavement. Lying there, limply, he let out a tired whimper as he shut his eyes. They laughed, and Jeff heard the footsteps starting to head away.

"Let's go." Jeff waited until he couldn't hear their voices before slowly peeling himself from the ground. He shook and straightened himself, groaning. He throbbed all over, and he was certain he looked like a mess. He knew he shouldn't have taken the shortcut from the grocery store. He sighed as he looked over where the bags lay, chips scattered and broken. They'd popped one of the bags, and it seemed they had taken the other one for themselves.

Jeff picked up the plastic, not wanting to litter, and limped down the street towards a trash can, tossing it in. He wasn't sure how he was going to make it back to Dalton at this rate. It was hard to breath, and he wheezed before doubling over, bursting out into a fit of coughs. He looked down at his hand. Blood. There was a buzz in his pocket, and he pulled his phone out, looking at the text. It was from Wes.

_You're late to practice again. This is the third time this month. I understand you have a busy schedule, but it is not only irresponsible but inconsiderate to the fellow Warblers to do this consistently._

He hadn't bothered telling them why he was late before, and he certainly wasn't about to now. Jeff sighed, stumbling backwards and leaning against the wall as he typed out a reply.

**Sorry. It won't happen again. I lost track of the time. I'll be there in –**

Jeff stopped, biting his lip. There was another ten minutes until he got to school followed by maybe thirty minutes to take a shower, clean off the blood, and change.

**- forty-five minutes.**

He slipped his phone back in and closed his eyes. His head was starting to get dizzy again. He let out a sigh and swallowed thickly. He just had to make it another few minutes. He sighed, making his way towards the school. He tripped and stumbled, catching himself several times on the wall. His mouth felt dry, and he swallowed thickly, feeling a slight burn. His eyes were slightly blurry, and it was getting painful to breath. They really had outdone themselves this time. Well, soon it wouldn't matter.

Jeff made his way into the school, stumbling through a back entrance close to his dorm. He made sure no one was in the hall before walking to his room as quickly as he could. He caught himself on the dresser as soon as he fell in, and he let himself stand still for a moment, his throat constricting.

"Fuck." This wasn't good. He made his way to his closet, grabbing the clothes he needed. It was getting hard to concentrate. His hand reached to the back of his head, and he pressed his hand up against it. He could feel it was slightly wet. Dammit, usually they were careful not to leave too noticeable marks. He'd have to wash it out and bandage it.

His head rushed through excuses – tripping, falling, getting his by a car because he hadn't paid attention… The last one seemed a bit extreme. Make it a bicyclist. He hadn't used that one before. He nodded and moved to the bathroom, stripping of his clothes and letting them fall to the ground. Lots of blood. He sighed and turned on the water, waiting a moment.

He gripped at the counter, his eyes closing. He hated this. There was no one here that he was close enough to that would care. Jeff was starting to wonder why he even bothered going through it every day. He was invisible. It had never mattered to anyone, and it was stopping to matter to him as well. He stepped into the shower, letting out a sharp hiss as the water washed over his cuts. A dirty red drained at his feet, and he closed his eyes, propping himself up against the cold, tiled wall.

He let the water rush over him for another minute or two before reaching for the shampoo. Shit, it was really going to hurt with the cut. He'd have to be careful. He washed around it as best as he could, and he winced as his fingers scraped against the cut. When he had done that, he looked down, making his way from the bottom to the top, scrubbing where he was dirty or bleeding. The ones on his back were impossible to reach, but he decided not to worry about those.

His stomach clamped, and he leaned over, shutting his eyes. When he turned off the water, he almost slipped, and he had to sit himself down for a moment at the edge of the tub when he got out. He made his way out, moving to his mini-fridge and opening the door. He pulled out a V8, grabbing a glass from the cabinet above him and shakily poured it out. Some of it spilled on his hands and the floor, but he didn't have time to worry about it now.

He took a sip and sighed, closing his eyes. It felt cold, but he would manage. He immediately started to feel his head clear a little. Filled with iron, vitamins, and sugar – all of which help with blood loss – he'd looked it all up ages ago. He reached on top of the fridge, grabbing the pack of Fig Newtons. He pulled one out, nibbling lightly on it before sighing.

Carefully, Jeff made his way to the bathroom. The most obvious cuts on his face were the one at the back of his head and a scratch there as well. There were several bruises that were starting to form as well. A gasp on his back shoulder became apparent when he turned around. Jeff groaned, reaching down to his cabinet and pulling out the alcohol and the bandages.

It took a good while to clean them all out and wrap them up. He was running late, and he still felt a bit dizzy as he finished with his tie. He made his way out of the hall and to the practice, pushing open the doors and holding himself as straight as possible. There was a pang in his stomach, and he doubled over. Shit. He made his way in, slumped instead, and a few head turned towards him.

"Are you alright?" Blaine was at his side right away. He was probably who Jeff would consider the closest to him. Jeff managed a tight smile.

"Fine. Yeah, I got Wes' text and ran to hurry up. Got hit by a bicyclist, and – well – it seemed to actually have the adverse effect." He laughed, though it died as he clutched at his stomach.

Blaine's hand rubbed his shoulder, and he sighed. "You should be careful , okay? We can't have you… You seem to hurt yourself a lot, Jeff. I'm just worried." Jeff nodded, folding his hands in his lap as he walked to a chair and sat down.

"Warbler Jeff," Wes nodded towards him. Eyes seemed to linger on him for a moment before Wes cleared his throat and they continued their discussion.

"I mean, while _All You Need Is Love_ is a traditional song, I don't think it would win over the judges. Besides, that was not one of our strongest selections this year," Trent said, and Jeff let himself zone out. His hand reached for the bridge of his nose, and he squeezed it.

Tonight was the night. He'd been thinking about it for a year, and a few weeks ago he'd picked today. Today's attack seemed to cement it for him. He'd snatched the drugs from his parents. It worked well, really; a gun was too hard to come by, and he didn't fancy the idea of something going wrong. Taking the drugs would be just like falling asleep – easy and painless.

His mother was having trouble sleeping, and to deal with her insomnia the doctors had prescribed Solfoton. He'd looked it up: it was a Phenobarbital that was prescribed to help with seizures, insomnia, and to relieve anxiety. In small doses it was helpful, and overdose wasn't absolutely uncommon. The information had been easy enough to find over Google.

His parents hadn't suspected him for one moment. He'd always been the good kid in class and out. They'd just assumed his mother had misplaced it, and they'd gone to get another one. He'd listened, shaking as his mother turned to him and said, "Honestly, I swear I'm getting worse. First my glasses now this…" She'd laughed at it, and Jeff had heaved a sigh of relief. The bottle was carefully stashed behind his books. He'd made sure to pull them out an even amount so that no one would notice.

He was one of the few people at Dalton who had gotten a single room, but he had been paranoid someone would visit and happen to see. He ran his tongue over his lips. There were a good thirty sixty-milligram tablets, and he figured that should be enough.

"Warbler Jeff, what's your opinion?" Jeff snapped his head up, his brow furrowing.

"I – uh…" He swallowed thickly, looking around. Blaine looked at him, trying to mouth something across the room. It was no use. "I don't know. I wasn't paying attention." Wes looked at him for a moment longer before sighing.

"Very well." Jeff had expected to be yelled at, and he was surprised when Wes simply nodded his head and turned to Flint. "What do you have to say about the song selection?" Jeff groaned, slipping away from the conversation again. He'd managed to avert a crisis this time, and by tomorrow it wouldn't matter anyway.

When Warbler practice ended, he pulled himself painfully out of his chair and began to limp out of the room. He felt someone's hand on his shoulder and froze, turning around. "You hurt yourself pretty badly." Wes stood, staring at Jeff, his eyes narrowed slightly. "Are you alright? I mean… is there something going on? Something you want to talk about?" For a moment Jeff considered telling him everything. He felt his eyes water, and the words started to come up.

His mouth snapped shut as he swallowed, and he pushed back the tears.

"Nothing. Why? Do I seem off?" Wes regarded him for a moment before shaking his head.

"No, no. I just – Never mind." He shook his head. "I was just wondering." Jeff managed a tight smile. If only Wes knew.

"Well, thanks for the concern, but everything's fine. I actually have to go do homework, so…" He trailed off and shifted his weight to his other leg as his right one started to hurt. Jeff wondered whether Wes would even care when he found out.

"Alright. I will see you later then." No.

"Yup. See ya later." Jeff made his way out of the practice, seeing Blaine motion to him but ignoring him. He just had to get this over with as quickly as possible. He made it back to his room, his breathing starting to get heavy. It was still painful and dizzying to walk too long. He locked the door behind him, stumbled over to the bed, and fell down on it. For a moment, he just sat there and catching his breath before scooting over.

His hand reached up, moving his copy of _The Picture of Dorian Gray_ to reveal an orange bottle. He took it out, carefully setting it to the side before pulling himself up with a strained effort. He reached for a glass, going to the bathroom and filling it with water before making it back over to the bed. He uncapped the bottle, spilling the tablets on his bed and staring at them.

Was he supposed to write a letter? Would anyone care? He figured Blaine might for a little while, and maybe his parents… He blinked several times, his brow furrowing. They were the only ones he felt somewhat bad about. They cared about him, but they were never around. Never noticed when he came back bruised and cut. 'Busy trying to make a life for you,' they had put it as. It made him feel guilty. His hand moved out, and he grabbed a pen from the table. Carefully, he tore the edge off of his math homework and brought it to his knee.

_I'm sorry_.

It was good enough, and even if it wasn't, it was all he could manage. He could write paragraphs explaining why – how he'd dealt with this for years, and how he'd thought going to Dalton would make it better. How it had followed him here. How he had no friends. What was the point? Why was he bothering with it anymore?

But he didn't have time or the strength in him anymore. Jeff picked up a few pills and stared at them. He spilled them in his mouth and began reaching for the glass when an unfamiliar voice sounded out through the room.

"Wait! Stop!"


	2. Chapter 2

Jeff choked on the pills, the sudden voice scaring him. He had tried to take a breath and a few flew to the back of his throat. His eyes popped wide open as he slammed at his chest with his fist, coughing violently. He shook his head. Was he really going to die like this – choking on the pills that were supposed to have killed him in the conventional way? He shook his head wildly sputtering as the pills steadily were hacked out. They fell to the floor as his eyes burned. Jeff put his hand on his chest, taking a painful, gasping breath as the last one finally dislodged itself.

"Fuck." He shook for a moment before looking up towards the voice. For a moment he thought he had to be dreaming. The boy in front of him looked translucent, like a ghost. Jeff was starting to wonder whether he'd taken some other drugs and forgotten. He just stared straight at the boy, his eyes wide and confused.

The boy had soft eyes and messy, longer, brown hair. He was a bit shorter than Jeff, and he wore a Dalton blazer. His hand was stretched out towards Jeff, and his brow furrowed in concern. "How did you get in?" Jeff asked, pressing back against the wall and reaching around to grab something.

"I'm not going to hurt you!" He shook his head. "That doesn't matter right now though." He bit his lip, looking around at the pills on the bed and floor.

"What do you want?" Jeff asked cautiously.

"Please. I know you just want to get away from everything. I know that it doesn't seem worth it right now, but just give me a moment to prove to you –" He waved his hands around, failing to get out what he wanted. "Just give me a chance." The boy swallowed thickly, but Jeff shook his head. His hand reached out for the pills. This was ridiculous. There was no way this boy was real. He was just a figment of his imagination, out to make him feel guilty.

"If you do it, it just means they win. It just means you give up. And there'll only be more hurt. Maybe not for you, but for everyone else." Anger flashed inside of Jeff. Who was this boy – even as a creation of his own – to tell him that? What did he know?

"Why won't you leave me alone?" he shouted, starting to feeling frustrated. "Just go away. Disappear."

"Because people care. I know it doesn't seem like it now. I know you can just feel those boys beating you up. And I know you want it to go away, but this isn't the solution."

"You're stronger than this – blah, blah, blah. Save it. Any other script you have prepared?" Jeff clenched his jaw, his eyes blurring with tears. He was sore all over, and not just from getting beaten up earlier today. He had tried thinking that. But how was he supposed to keep that up when every day he came home with cuts, and people either didn't notice or took his excuse? When he'd been called a hundred different names, beaten, and he couldn't even fight back? That was something even his own conscious couldn't argue.

"What about Blaine? Wes? Your parents?" The boy shook his head, reaching out and stopping his hands a few inches away from Jeff. The guilt was coming back with each word.

"How do you know this much about me?" He shook his head. "No, forget it. You're not even real. I've made you up."

"Just… I promise to explain everything if you just…"

Jeff closed his eyes, his mind drifting. He was shutting down. He could feel himself starting to disconnect. His breathing was getting steadier, and the boy's voice was growing fainter. All he had to do was –

There was a jarring cold on his shoulder, and his eyes snapped open. The boy leaned above him, moving as if to shake him awake. His eyes were wild, and he whimpered. Jeff let out a low, frustrated noise. Why wouldn't this _thing_ leave him alone? He willed his brain to shut off, to make it disappear, but the boy stayed there, hovering above him. "Please don't do this."

"Go away." Jeff's voice was defeated, and he repeated it several more times, no louder than a murmur. His head shook, and he buried his eyes into the pillow, hating the knot that formed in his chest, that made him want to pull up and into this strange boy.

"Please. Just listen to me."

"Leave me alone! Go away!" Jeff's hands went over his ears, and his fingers dug in. His eyes pressed shut, and he swayed back and forth. In his head, he willed the boy to disappear. Maybe if he wished hard enough, his head would actually comply, and then he could be left to do it in peace. He stayed like that for a moment, shaking, before carefully cracking his eyes open.

Nothing.

Jeff swallowed thickly. It had all been a part of his imagination after all. He couldn't stop shaking, and as he got up to get another glass of water, he stumbled into the bookshelf, whimpering at the pain as an edge pressed against his cuts. He managed to get the water in the glass, though it spilled everywhere as his hand shook. Carefully, he walked back into the room and –

His glass went flying, breaking on the floor as he jumped, feeling as if his heart had frozen. He let out a whimper as he tried to calm down. The boy was sitting on his bed, looking directly at Jeff with a stern expression on his face. "Jesus Christ, as far as hallucinations go, you're an asshole." Jeff rubbed the bridge of his nose and squeezed his eyes shut for a moment before looking directly at him again. The boy was still translucent and, worse yet, still there. Jeff felt sick. "I've lost it. You're not real!"

"You know, that isn't really polite to say to someone." The boy ran his hand through his hair before getting off of the bed. "Besides, I _am_ real."

"Right, sure, and I'm Brad Pitt."

"Who?" The boy shook his head. "No, it doesn't matter. I'll do anything to prove to you that I'm real." His eyes were wide, and he kept on glancing back down at the massive amounts of pills on Jeff's bed.

"If I get someone else to see you?" The boy bit his lip.

"No good. They're not going to see me. I'm not going to show myself to them." Jeff scowled and rolled his eyes.

"Fuck this. I'm not going to argue with a hallucination and let it talk me out of this." He went to reach for another glass, and the boy lunged forward. Jeff felt a coldness that seemed to seep into his bones as boy boy's hand fell through him.

"Which of these books haven't you read?" The boy motioned to Jeff's bookshelf.

Jeff blinked, confused by the question. He glanced over at his books, and he pursed his lips. His eyes flickered back to the pills one more time, and as his hand started to inch forward, he heard the boy, low and desperate. "Please." Jeff sighed. Fine. So his final actions would be entertaining the notions of his hallucination.

"_Scarlet Letter_. We're reading that later this year."

"And you don't know any of it?"

"I don't even know the characters' names," Jeff said, his fingers picking at the pills, drawing them into the palm of his hand.

"Dimmesdale and Chillingworth are dead. Hester dies at the end and is buried with Dimmesdale. I – The last line was on our test that day." He bit on his lower lip. "It was something about a field and the red A," the boy said with a nod. Jeff was tempted to ignore him, to ignore him and just take the pills. What could the boy do anyway? It wasn't as if he was going to make this any easier for him. Maybe this was just a result of his guilty conscious acting up.

"Look, I –"

Jeff didn't know why he was bothering. There was something so real about the way the boy looked at him, his eyes watering. And it was the first time someone had cared, had noticed. He couldn't help but pause. He was stupid; somewhere in the back of his head, he knew that the longer he waited, the less and less likely it became that he would do it.

"Fine," Jeff finally whispered, moving out and slipping _The Scarlet Letter_ off of the bookshelf. He flipped to the back of it, scanning over the conclusion. His throat dried. Dimmesdale and Chillingworth were dead. There was something about a pearl (or it seemed to a name), and then. "One a field, sable, the letter A, gules," Jeff read out the final line. That couldn't be right.

"I told you. Now just –"

Jeff shook his head. "I must have heard it somewhere. There's no way you could have…" There was no such thing as ghosts. He'd stopped believing in them back when he'd stopped having play sword-fights with sticks and running around the playground. There had to be some other logical explanation. "You're just a projection of my imagination. Stop it!" He shook, feeling his throat close, his stomach knot up.

"_A Tale of Two Cities–_ Carton dies and imagines a brighter future as he does so. _Hamlet_ – 'Oh, I am slain Horatio.'"

"Stop."

"_Macbeth_ –"

"I've got the point." Jeff felt his stomach knot as he grabbed those books, flipping them to the back as he sat on the bed. Each ending was exactly as the boy had said. There was no way Jeff heard all of these endings before – he knew that much. But then…

Jeff's eyes went back up to the boy to find him smiling sadly at him. "Do you believe me yet?" the boy asked. This was illogical. But there was no way he could have made him up; the boy had done a good job in proving that much. Jeff's crawled up on the bed, pulling himself into a ball as best as he could with his bruises.

"I – I do." His eyes watered as he stared down at the blanket. "But why do you care so much?"

"I knew someone who did it. Killed himself, I mean." The boy's voice was quiet and shook. Jeff lifted his head, his eyes widening. So that was why he had been so adamant about it.

"Oh, I – I'm sorry."

"It was a long time ago. And – And I can't let you do the same thing. I can't." He shook his head. "He deserved a life just like you do."

"But I don't want –"

"I don't care if you disagree. I really don't. I'm not letting you do this. Sit up." Jeff stayed down, feeling his eyes prickle again.

"No."

"Please, Jeff." It was the first time the boy had used his name. Jeff slowly drew himself up, curling in on himself and feeling his cuts twist and burst. He felt the bruises from where he was kicked, and his muscles groaned and complained. As he slowly turned to face the boy, still wondering how he could find words that somehow managed to tug at him. He had been so sure there was nothing left.

"What?"

"I wish someone had been there to stop him. I know he could have been happy. I know it doesn't seem like it now, but you have to believe me." He looked at Jeff for a moment, searching. Jeff sighed.

"I just don't understand. I don't want to have to deal with… this." He motioned loosely all around him. "I'm sick of dealing with those boys –"

"You have every right to fight back." There was a sharp edge to his voice, and he quickly deflated as Jeff gave him a curious look. "Sorry."

Jeff shook his head. "I could never take them on my own." Jeff shrugged. "And it's not like anyone notices. I mean, really, what are the chances I'd get hit by a bicyclist? Let's be real." He glanced away at his window. His finger traced the quilt pattern absentmindedly.

"They notice. Wes earlier today knew something was wrong. Blaine was concerned."

"But –" Jeff felt the guilt seep in lower. Was he really going to leave all of those people with a simple 'I'm sorry'? Was that enough to cut it?

"You're pushing them away." There was a light pause before he added, "I understand why." He looked over at Jeff. Silence fell over them, and after a moment a soft hum came out of the boy's mouth. It took a moment to recognize the tune, but once he did, his brow furrowed.

"_Paralyzer…_" he muttered, regarding the boy curiously.

"It's your favorite song, isn't it?"

"How did you know?" Jeff asked, unfurling himself slightly and wincing as he leaned against the wall, trying to find a comfortable way not to lean on his cuts.

"You used to go to the Warbler practice room and dance to that song a lot. You've stopped though." The boy paused, wetting his lips. "What happened?"

"I –" Jeff swallowed, unsure how to word it. "I couldn't anymore. I suppose I just gave up." He shrugged, looking away.

"Throw the pills away."

Part of him knew the boy was right, but he automatically still found himself fighting back, his voice weak. "I can't. I have to…"

"You don't have to do anything. And throwing them away will eliminate the temptation. Just… put them in the toilet and flush them."

Jeff swallowed thickly. "I can't." He'd planned this out so carefully. He'd been so sure he was ready, so sure he wanted this. But now… His head hurt.

"Give yourself one more try. Please." Jeff stared at him for a moment, and the boy held his gaze. He wasn't sure what it was about him that made him so willing to listen, but after a moment, he nodded. Maybe the boy was right. Maybe things would get better. Doubt filled him, but then he faced the boy again, seeing the fear and concern in his eyes.

"Fine." He pulled himself up, picking the pills off of the quilt and the floor, his head spinning. Somehow he felt detached, as if he wasn't doing it himself, but it helped him to keep pushing himself, methodically – one, then the next, then the next…

Jeff made his way to the toilet, dropping them in and pulling the handle. The water swirled, and his stomach dropped as he watched it slowly sink away and disappear. He really had done it. Jeff headed back to the bedroom numbly, perching himself on the edge of his bed.

"Thank you." The boy moved down, sitting next to him, and Jeff made a small mumbling sound as if to say thank you too. Part of him still was working on processing what he'd done. And it was all because of – Jeff blinked. He didn't even know.

"Who are you?"

A small smile turned up at the edge of the boy's lips. "The name's Nick."


	3. Chapter 3

Jeff tapped his pencil on the desk, his chin resting on the palm of his hand. He could barely pay attention, and his eyes kept on closing. He hadn't been sleeping well. "I'll give you an easy question, Mr. Peters," Dr. White said, pacing in front of the room and smiling. "Who fought in the Crimean War, and which side won?"

Jacob Peters, a guy Jeff didn't really know, cleared his throat before saying, "The Ottoman Empire won the war with France and Britain's help."

Dr. White nodded. "Good. And, Mr. Anderson, can you tell me what Tsar Alexander II's response was?"

"He saw how advanced the Western civilizations were, and he decided that he needed to move his military forward as well if he wanted to have any chance at winning any future battles or wars."

Jeff zoned out, drawing small lines on his paper, pretending to take notes. He sighed. It had been three days since he'd last seen Nick. He wasn't sure how he felt about it. Jeff moved his pencil to the corner of his paper, the lines changing into a word. Or, rather, a name: Nick.

Maybe he'd made the whole thing up. But the whole issue with the books kept on coming back to him. There was no way his subconscious could have made those things up and been right. The thought that he'd heard the endings elsewhere kept on flickering through his head, but even that seemed doubtful. He'd not only have to remember the characters and the endings but come up with the idea to convince himself. So, the only other explanation to this whole situation was somehow even less believable than a ghost. He groaned, pressing at his temple.

"Is everything all right, Mr. Sterling?"

Jeff's head shot up to see Mr. White looking at him, eyebrows raised. The rest of the class' eyes followed over to him.

"Uh, yeah, just tired." He cleared his throat and sat up, staring down at his paper as he felt his cheeks heat up.

"Then you wouldn't mind telling us which Tsar followed Alexander III, correct?" He paused before adding, "He reigned during the Russo-Japanese War as well as World War I." Jeff paused for a moment, trying to think back. He'd read this just a few nights ago.

"During the Russo-Japanese War..." Jeff repeated, lifting his head up.

"That's what I said, yes." From across the room, he could see Blaine mouthing something to him. He was exaggerating it, making it impossible to understand. He gave a slight shake of his head, and Blaine tried again. If Jeff didn't know better, he'd have thought that Blaine was saying "Nick" and something else. He swallowed thickly. Well, it was worth a shot.

"Nick..." he tried, and Blaine buried his head in his hands.

"Well, generally people call him Nicholas II, but — err — I suppose Nick is... technically correct." Well, that made more sense. Jeff gave a tense smile, and the attention slowly faded away from him. After a moment, he let out a shaky breath and began zoning out again. Looking at his watch, he felt a wave of relief. There were only five minutes left.

When the bell rang, he slowly picked up his things, waiting for everyone else to file out ahead of him. Except, unlike usual, this time Blaine waited for him. He bounced over, rocking on his heels. "Sorry, I tried! And you kinda got it." Jeff let out a tired smile.

"Oh, Mr. Anderson, as much as I appreciate your help, next time let Mr. Sterling try to answer it on his own," Mr. White said. Blaine flushed.

"Sorry," he mouthed to Jeff before smiling over at Mr. White. The two boys walked toward the door side-by-side. Jeff stumbled, tripping over a desk leg, and dropped his books. Perfect.

"Here." Blaine bent down, helping him and handed back his papers. His head tilted to the side as he got to the last sheet and he handed it back. As soon as they got out of the room, Blaine gave a small grin. "So, who's Nick?"

Jeff's stomach knotted. "No one. I just couldn't read your lips," he said, rolling his eyes and letting out an exasperated sigh. "You need to learn to work those lips better," he teased, bumping Blaine and trying to get the attention away from his question.

"Uh-huh, sure. Or maybe you could do the reading," Blaine said, reaching out and ruffling Jeff's hair. "You're silly and feeling better than you were a few days ago. Want to go to lunch?" Jeff shook his head.

"I need to actually ask Mr. White something and work on a paper for AP Psychology." Blaine's brow furrowed, and he looked like he was about to question it for a moment, but then he simply shrugged.

"Suit yourself. Whenever you're ready, though, I'll be there. Catch ya later, Jeff." He smiled and walked away. Jeff moved slowly towards Mr. White's door, looking back to make sure that Blaine had turned the corner before moving over to an empty classroom. In all honesty, he more needed some time alone. He hadn't been sleeping well recently – not that it was much of a surprise – and he wanted some time alone.

Walking into an empty classroom, Jeff collapsed into a desk, putting his books and papers beside him before resting his head down. Jeff's closed his eyes, starting to slip slightly in and out of consciousness. He was jarred awake, though, when another voice spoke.

"Boo." Jeff's head shot up, and he found himself staring at Nick, who was leaned back against the whiteboard. His eyes looked over to the open door to make sure no one was there. It seemed like the Warblers were already beginning to question his sanity. Who knew what they would do if they found him talking to what appeared to be thin air. Jeff's slight smile turned into a scowl as he let his head drop.

"Funny, I thought you'd forgotten me," Jeff mumbled, looking away and gritting his teeth.

"Hey, that's not fair…" Jeff cracked open an eye. Nick slowly walked towards him. "I didn't know whether you'd want to see me again. Besides, I've been watching you just in case." Nick's brow furrowed. "I'm new at this." Nick moved over to the desk next to Jeff and sat on top of it, his legs crossed Indian-style.

"New at what exactly? Saving people? Is that your new hobby?" Jeff couldn't help but sound annoyed. As much as he hated admitting it, part of him had really missed Nick He was about to start yelling, but then again, what if someone heard them. Besides, Nick himself hadn't done anything wrong, really. Jeff sighed, leaning down so that he was still facing Nick.

"Don't be like that. Please, Jeff." Nick sighed. "I know you're frustrated, but I just want to help. I promise."

"And I'm supposed to take your word?"

"Well, I'd say let's shake on it, but…" He stuck out his hand as if to demonstrate, and Jeff shivered, feeling that same chill as it ran through his hand. "There's a bit of a problem with the whole can't-touch-you aspect." He sighed, slowly letting his hand slip back down to his side. Jeff let out a small smile. He couldn't really resist the look Nick was giving him.

"Fine, all right. I suppose I've missed you. I don't know why though," Jeff teased, leaning back in his chair and stretching his legs out.

"It's because I'm fabulous," Nick said, sticking his tongue out. Jeff found himself sticking his own out right back as well, and he beamed widely at Nick.

"Sure, keep on telling yourself that," Jeff said, smiling at him. He felt somehow more relaxed than he had before. He supposed it was easier to relax around him considering he already seemed to know about all his secrets.

"So, what have you been up to?"

"I thought you were looking after me," Jeff asked stretching out his arms.

"Checking up on you – there's a difference. I'm not _that_ big of a stalker," Nick said, laughing. "Besides, people need alone time for a reason. It's not like I ever really walk through walls into people's rooms."

"But you could?" Somehow, Jeff was curious to know. He licked his lips, staring at Nick.

"Yeah. I just… don't usually. Privacy is supposed to be respected whether or not the person knows that you're watching in." He nodded, seemingly satisfied with his answer.

"I suppose that's fair enough." Jeff paused, picking up and pencil and flipping it around, staring intently at it for a moment before looking back up at Nick. "What's it like being a ghost?" Nick's brow furrowed.

"What do you mean?"

"I mean… Everyone always gets asked those weird kinds of questions like 'What would you do if you were a ghost' or things like that. So… what's it like?" He tilted his head to the side.

"Honestly?" Nick asked, and Jeff nodded. "A bit lonely. But I suppose I really did that to myself." As he moved, accidentally moving into Jeff, there was a slight breeze, and Jeff shivered. Nick moved around the room, his fingers reaching out and running along the surfaces of the desk. Jeff didn't say anything; he didn't know what to say to that. "This used to be a Latin classroom, you know," Nick said after a moment, shaking his head.

"Oh?" Jeff asked, his voice quiet. Nick picked another desk, further away, sitting on it and facing Jeff.

"Sorry, I probably just brought the mood down a lot. Anyway…" He cleared his throat. "So, how are you feeling? Better than the other day from what I gather…"

Before Jeff could answer the question, though, there was the sound of footsteps down the hall. Drawn to the sound, Jeff's head turned, and when he looked back, Nick wasn't sitting on the desk anymore.

After a moment, Flint walked in. "Oh, hey, Jeff. You okay?" Jeff nodded.

"What are you doing here?"

"I left my pen in here. We're doing a timed writing in English today, so I'll need it." He grinned and grabbed it, pausing at the door. His looked dropped to something more serious. "You sure you okay?" Jeff nodded, and Flint paused for a moment before slipping out.

When he'd waited five minutes, and Nick didn't show up again, he pulled himself up out of the chair and out of the classroom. Now that Nick was gone, his curiosity was piqued. He had said that classroom used to be a Latin room. That would imply that he'd been here a while ago, right? Maybe he was an old Dalton student. The thought left Jeff's head running through several possibilities, and he paused.

That sort of information wouldn't really be something he could find online. After all, he didn't even know his last name. Or maybe he'd heard it, but he didn't remember. In any case, who knew what would even come up if he Googled 'Nick Dalton'. Where the hell would he find a list of old students with pictures, though? What records would possibly have –

Yearbooks.

Jeff straightened his books before walking towards the library. He knew that they had a few from previous years. Hopefully they'd date back far enough to help him find what he needed. Making his way into the library, he walked straight over to the shelves with them, bending down and swallowing thickly.

As it turned out, they ranged back to 1939, and the design seemed to get progressively simpler as the years went back. Most of them were now covered with dust, but some were cleaned from a single use. Jeff wasn't sure what he expected to see. If he ever wanted to find it, he'd have to get started.

Jeff made his way through a good deal of them before his head started hurting. He couldn't remember at which point they switched from colored pictures to black and white or what he was even really looking at anymore. There were several points where he just came to squeezing his forehead and closing his eyes. The faces were starting to blur together, and he was starting to feel hopeless. Maybe Google would have been a better option.

Finally, somewhere in the middle of 1943, something caught his eye. The task was starting to get mindless. He could have easily missed it, but, no, something caught his eye. He furrowed his brow, carefully peeling back the page.

Jeff's breath caught in his throat. Staring back at him was a picture of Nick himself. Nick's hair was parted to one side, and he looked nervous. His teeth gave off a gritted look, and he simply looked uncomfortable. But whatever it looked like, it was Nick, and nothing else mattered.

"_Congratulations class of 1943_," he read out the capitalized, bolded letters by their pictures, and his lips pursed. So, he was part of the class of 1943. Jeff turned the page, trying to see if there were any other pictures of him. He froze, staring at the next page wide-eyed.

"_In loving memory of Nicholas Duval: 1926-1943_." Underneath the title was a collage of pictures of Nick from a baby and through school. He was laughing in a few, but they all seemed to be younger pictures of him. Jeff let out a small laugh as he looked at one where Nick's hair was messed up, blown upwards as if gelled by the wind. He was hanging from a tree branch and sticking out his tongue.

Jeff ran his tongue over his lips, setting the yearbook down on the floor, left open as it was. So, he'd died his senior year. Nick had only been seventeen.

So, what had happened?


	4. Chapter 4

Jeff looked up from his psychology textbook and over at Nick. He was lying on the bed, staring up at the ceiling. After a moment, he seemed to notice that Jeff was looking at him. His eyes moved over to Jeff's, and he smiled. "Shouldn't you be preparing for that test?"

Jeff bit his lip, pushing the book away and spinning his chair around to face Nick. "I'll do it in a second. Just..." The yearbook page was floating through his mind, and he ran his hand through his hair. Noticing how tentative Jeff was, Nick pulled himself up, his brow furrowing.

"Just what? Is everything okay?" Nick's legs dangled off the side of the bed, and Jeff felt his stomach knot. How was he even supposed to ask it? _So, clearly you're dead. How did that happen?_

"Never mind." Shaking his head, Jeff started to move back, but Nick's hand reached out. Although it stopped short and wouldn't have been able to physically grab Jeff's anyway, it still caught his attention.

"Wait, wait... You can't just say never mind. What were you going to say?" Nick's head tilted to the side as he wet his lips.

"I shouldn't have brought it up."

"But you barely did."

"Exactly, so let me drop it." Jeff shifted, his eyes dropping to the floor.

"C'mon, Jeff, please?" Nick pleaded, jutting his lower lip out unconsciously. Jeff sighed, wishing he had just kept the thought to himself.

"Fine. Promise you won't get mad?" Jeff asked, his hands twisting in his lap. Now Nick looked genuinely confused.

"Why would I get angry?"

"Just promise."

"Okay, fine. I promise." Nodding, Nick gestured for him to continue.

"So..." Jeff paused for a moment before clearing his throat.

"C'mon, spit it out."

"I was looking through some yearbooks..." he started. Nick shifted and cocked an eyebrow. "Not my yearbooks. Yours."

Nick's eyes widened this time as he froze. "Oh..." His mouth stayed put in a slight "o", and he seemed unsure of what to say.

"Yeah." When Nick still didn't say anything, Jeff continued. "I saw the -"

"Memorial page. Yeah."

"That. I figured you died, but I thought that you were younger."

"I'm the same age as you are now."

"In 1943 you were."

"Do I look any different? Being stuck the same age forever isn't quite as romantic as they make it sound," Nick mumbled, his voice taking on a bitter edge.

"What happened?" The question just slipped out, and Nick sighed.

"It's complicated." There was a sharper tone to Nick's words. It was obvious he didn't really want to discuss it, but Jeff's curiosity was piqued, and he wasn't quite ready yet to let it go.

"You promised you wouldn't get angry."

"I'm not angry. Just..." He sighed and shook his head. "I'm not angry."

"Then what happened?" They looked at each other, neither of them saying anything. Finally, Nick sighed.

"It really —" Nick didn't get any further because there was a knock at the door. It opened, and Trent walked in, dressed in full winter clothes.

"You'll never guess what — it's snowing!" Blaine fell into the room a moment later, and Jeff's eyes snapped back to where Nick had been several seconds ago. He wished that he would reappear, but chances of that happening now were slim-to-none. Trent seemed to notice he was looking for something and paused. He seemed to consider the question before asking, "Who were you talking to?"

"Huh? Oh, no, just myself," Jeff lied, offering a small smile. Trent's brow furrowed, though he said nothing. "All right..." Trent said. Blaine ran over, tugging at Jeff's blazer sleeve.

"Take a study break and come outside."

"What are you, five? You've seen snow hundreds of times before. It's not that exciting," Jeff grumbled. All he wanted was for Nick to come back and tell him what had happened. But as Trent and Blaine grinned at him, it was hard to remind himself that it wasn't their fault. It wasn't as if they knew that they were interrupting him, and he couldn't exactly explain.

"You can study for psychology later," Blaine said, and Jeff sighed, letting himself be pulled up.

"Fine." He couldn't help but smile back as Blaine and Trent looked at him so excitedly. "Lemme just grab some warmer clothes. You guys go. I'll be out in a sec." Blaine nodded.

"Sounds good." They hopped out of the room to the hall. Jeff paused, grabbing his hat, gloves, scarf, and coat before pausing. He slung the scarf around his neck and cleared his throat.

"Nick?" he asked quietly, holding his breath. There was no response. Jeff sighed, slipping on his shoes and walked out.

"Ready?" Blaine asked, his voice a whisper as Jeff walked out. Jeff nodded, and the three of them ran quietly down the stairs and to the opening doors. A gust of wind blew over them, and they laughed, wedging a rock the door and the doorframe to keep it from closing and locking them out.

"You guys never used to call on me to come out with you. What happened?" Jeff asked, slipping his hands into his pockets. "Not that I'm complaining... I mean, I guess it's nice out here. Cold, though." He cleared his throat and shut up.

"I don't know. You seemed lonely," Trent replied, shrugging. Jeff looked at them and smiled.

"I seemed lonely?" He hadn't thought anyone had noticed.

"Well, yeah," Blaine said with a shrug. "And that isn't really a fun feeling." A snowflake fell on Blaine's eyelashes, and he laughed, blinking as it melted. They didn't say anything more, and, after a moment, their heads lifted to the sky. They looked up as white blurs fell from high above. Jeff shivered, wrinkling his nose as one fell on it.

"Thanks, you guys," Jeff finally said. After a second, Jeff stuck out his tongue to catch the snow, and he noticed Blaine and Trent doing the same. He was sure that, to an onlooker, they would have looked crazy, but he couldn't find it in him to care. For the first time in a while, Jeff felt happy.

OoOoOoO

"I heard we got a new Warbler," Thad said, walking with Jeff towards the Dalton practice room. "Or someone who wants to try out, at least."

Jeff made a small humming sound. He hadn't seen Nick since he'd disappeared last night when Blaine and Trent had walk into his room. "Really?" They turned the hall, walking towards the double set of doors. "Heard anything about him?"

"I've heard he's a bit cocky. And he's called… Uh, what's his name?"

"Sebastian Smythe," they heard from behind them. Thad and Jeff turned around to see a tall brunette walking towards them. He slipped a hand out of his pocket, holding it out to shake with them.

"You were in my English class and psychology class," Jeff said, surprised. He'd noticed the boy was new; he just hadn't put two and two together when Thad mentioned a new Warbler.

"Unfortunately, I never got a chance to introduce myself in class. You were out as soon as the bell rang." His eyes shamelessly looked Jeff up and down before he wet his lips. Jeff couldn't help but feel uncomfortable, and he shifted; there was something predatory about the way Sebastian was looking at him.

"Thad Harwood," Thad said, his voice sharp as he held out his hand, stepping between them. His lips pursed into a thin line, and Sebastian scoffed. He grudgingly shook Thad's hand and ran his tongue over the back of his teeth.

"Pleasure," Sebastian said, his voice anything but sincere.

"Might I mention I'm on the Warbler council? Fun little tidbit for you right there," Thad said with a forced laugh. Sebastian's back immediately straightened as his smile became more relaxed.

"Oh really? You don't say? How fascinating – tell me more." He licked his lips, and his face let out a momentarily frustrated look.

"There's really not much to tell. Besides, I'm sure you have it all under control. You have nothing to worry about." Thad raised an eyebrow challengingly, and Sebastian sucked his lips in, his eyes holding Thad's.

"No, you're right. I have no doubt about the fact that I'm getting in. I still behaved rudely though. My apologies." His voice was harsh, and he looked Thad in the eyes as if challenging him to point out his obvious lack of remorse.

"No, no, don't apologize. I'm glad I got to see the real you. Besides, you'd have to be a damn good actor to hide how much of an asshole you are. I don't think you have those skills." Thad tilted his head to the side and smiled up at him. "Oh, good luck with your audition." He got on his tip-toes and reached out, patting Sebastian on the head before walking off. Jeff followed as Thad pushed the doors to the Warbler practice room open. "Asshole," he muttered to Jeff.

Throwing a glance behind his shoulder, he noticed Sebastian glaring after Thad, his jaw clenched. "I don't think he's too happy," Jeff muttered.

"Let him be. He deserves it." Thad seemed pitiless for the guy, but even Jeff had to admit he'd seemed so self-assured with his smirk and wandering eyes. Maybe it was best to teach him a little lesson. Jeff slid in the seat next to Blaine, and Thad walked up to the Warbler council table.

"Did you see the new guy?" Blaine asked, looking over as Sebastian walked into the room.

"Yeah, he seems… interesting."

"That's one way to put it," Blaine muttered. Sebastian's eyes seemed to rest on Thad for a second before he purposefully walked over to Jeff, squeezing in next to him and holding out his hand.

"I never got your name," he said, flashing a bright smile. His eyes rested on Blaine as well, and he smirked. "So, are all the hot guys in Ohio Warblers?"

"Uh, Jeff, and…" He blushed, unsure what to say. His eyes went up to Thad, only to see the boy livid, his eyes wide and one hand clenched into a tight fist. Slowly his gaze went back to Sebastian; it was unnerving how calm that boy could be. He was saved after a moment, though, as Wes rapped his gavel against the table.

"I call this meeting into session," he said. Jeff cleared his throat, pressing back into the cushions and wishing he could disappear as he felt Sebastian's gaze linger on him for a moment longer. "Stand up, please," Wes said, motioning to Sebastian. Sebastian did as he was told. "Sebastian Smythe is going to be trying out. What song have you selected?"

"_In The Next Room_ by Neon Trees," he said, moving out towards the center of the room.

"You have our attention. Proceed." Wes leaned back, and Sebastian went over to the CD player, pressing the on button. He started, his eyes finding their way towards Jeff's.

"_There you go, messing with my mind. I am usually better when I lie_." His hips moved to the rhythm of the song as he sang along, a wide smirk crossing his face. His hands slid down his sides and rested on his thighs, his fingers tightening for a moment before his head tilted back, his eyes closing for a moment.

"Is he singing that to… you?" Blaine whispered, his eyes wide as he looked between Jeff and Sebastian.

Sebastian's eyes snapped open as he started the chorus. "_Oh, I lose control when I hear your body move through the walls in the next room_." His lips pulled back for a moment, and he spun around, focusing for a moment at the council, each step forward matching the beat. But after a moment, Sebastian turned back to Jeff.

"_You make love to everything you touch. It's a natural reaction; it's sexual attraction_," he sang, winking at Jeff. Jeff pressed back against the cushioning of the couch, a low whimper escaping his lips. This was not happening right now. Sebastian shamelessly moved up to Jeff, his hand reaching out, lightly drawing across Jeff's knee before he moved down the row of furniture, singing to each Warbler.

As he moved out toward the middle, Blaine looked over at Jeff. "Hot damn."

"_If you only knew how hard it is to handle – how bad I want this scandal…_" Sebastian moved across, breaking into the chorus again, his blazer flaring out as he spun around again, falling to his knees for a moment before pulling up.

"He's really getting into that song isn't he?" Trent muttered from next to Blaine.

"Shut up," Jeff choked back through gritted teeth, feeling his cheeks heat up as Sebastian walked along the Warbler council, his finger dragging lightly along the side.

"_Oh, my heart you stole. Every time your body moves, I'm dying just to break through to the next room._" He made his final walk slowly towards the seat where Jeff sat, his eyes narrowed and focused solely on Jeff. Jeff shivered, pulling against Blaine as Sebastian finished the song, his breathing heavy. He turned to face the council and smiled.

"And?"

"You certainly have the right stage presence and talent," David said, and Wes hummed in agreement.

"Confident. Perhaps not the best song choice, but it worked well with your voice."

"He has chops," David continued. Their eyes fell to Thad. Thad's lips were pursed.

"No, absolutely not." He crossed his arms over his chest as Sebastian's eyes narrowed. "Fine, he's not completely musically incompetent, but he's not as great as you say he is."

"Thad, you're being unreasonable," Wes tried. Thad's hands unfurled, and they slammed down on the table.

"No, sing to our caliber. I'm not going to let someone like him join."

"Did you hear him sing – he was phenomenal," David said, looking incredulously at Thad.

"Yeah, I was pretty phenomenal," Sebastian said, though he quickly earned another glare from everyone. It effectively shut him up, and Wes and David looked at Thad.

"Fine, if you're that stubborn about it, let's vote on it," Wes said, and Thad's jaw clenched. He looked at Sebastian who had a sickeningly smug look on his face. Thad felt determined to wipe it off.

"Fine. Whatever. I still refuse to perform it, though. We already did _Animal_." His eyes went elsewhere, and he did his best to tune them out.

"I'm afraid we can't put the song without all three members of the Warbler council's agreement, however, I'd be happy to see you join. You have the talent to lead the Warblers in a solo."

"Agreed," David said, nodding his head. Wes' gavel rapped at the table again, and Wes cleared his throat. Jeff felt his heart sink, and he let out a low groan.

"Sebastian Smythe, welcome to the Warblers."


End file.
